To Win
by thecatclouder
Summary: 'To win'. [Verb]. To be successful or victorious. Or, the Master challenges the Doctor to a drinking contest.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **The Master (obviously) does not die on the Valiant.**

 **Enjoy. Please review and tell me what you think. :)**

Out of all of the crazy schemes, plots, strategies, tactics and master plans, to name just a few, that the Master had come up with since he had been imprisoned on the TARDIS, this one was by far the most innocent. For one, it did not involve any lasers, guns, weapons, contraptions, technology, etc. that the Doctor half-feared, no matter how many things he kept hidden. It was almost like travelling with a dog (a comparison he had once made, as his mouth was not something that resided as 'shut' in its natural state, causing the Master's eyes to flash and another scheme to promptly start) who had to constantly be pulled back. A dog, who instead of wishing to eat everything like it was some sort of vacuum cleaner, having to be pulled back by the collar, came up with ways to overthrow the universe and steal the TARDIS from him.

In theory, the TARDIS should prevent him from doing all of that, zapping him whenever he got close to messing with circuitry (again) or stealing her from him (again), but the Master had just raised both of his eyebrows and giving his crazy grin. "Yeah, not going to let me do that _again_ , is she? How many times was it now…?"

In short, the Master knew how to set the Doctor off just as much as the Doctor inadvertently (not purposely, as he was trying to _help_ the Master and not send him into his 'I'm-going-to-destroy-the-universe-and-everything-the-Doctor-cares-about' mode) set the Master off. The Doctor, naturally, checked each of the controls and the entirety of the wiring twice after that, while the Master played music which was twice as loud as it needed to be in order for the regions of the outer galaxy to hear it, despite sound not travelling in space.

Out of all the crazy schemes, this one was by far the most harmless seeming, which made the Doctor distrust it instantly. The Master with an innocent expression on his face was never something to be trusted.

The Master had somehow – and perhaps the TARDIS was partially to blame for that one – found a massive crate containing bottles of hypervodka that the Doctor did not even know he had, only to remember when the Master went to the kitchen to collect some large shot glasses.

"Oh right, the drinking games. You know Jack decided that he was going to have a massive party on Barcelona, get some women and men and various aliens to participate. I told him, 'not on my TARDIS', no matter how much he said that it was just going to be a game. If he could look me straight in the eyes and tell me that there was no intention for it to end in an orgy, perhaps it would be different," the Doctor said, then grinned. "He couldn't."

"I stopped listening when you mentioned the freak's name," the Master pointed out, tapping his fingers on the table and pouring them both shots, sliding one of the shot glasses over to him. The Doctor scanned the alcohol with his sonic screwdriver, checking to make sure that the Master had not tampered with it in any way even though he had no intention of drinking any of it.

The fact that Jack had once upon a time, linearly in the future but for both of them in the past, wanted to have a drinking game party should in no way explain why the crate had ever made its way onto the TARDIS. Or even, come to think of it, why _hyper_ vodka was needed; most species could get sufficiently drunk with the regular kind. Either Jack was somehow expecting to come across another timelord, or the intention was to play this game with the Doctor as his million-and-second way of flirting with him.

"Nevertheless," the Doctor continued. "The answer remains 'no'."

"I'm bored," the Master complained.

"Watch TV. The TARDIS gets signals from all over the universe…" The Master had started tapping his fingers again, louder this time, as if to tell the Doctor that he was not one of his human companions who was both clueless about and impressed by it. "A million channels. You mean to say that there is _nothing_ on. That figures; I've always wanted the real thing myself. One of the mysteries of the human race is how they sit in front of the thing for hours… _Master…_ "

The Master had pulled out some sort of device and had started pointing it at him. "Oh, don't worry about this. I wouldn't harm you" – the Doctor's face transformed into a very dubious look – "before our drinking contest." That made a little more sense; he still wanted something. "Just scanning your brain to figure out if you actually pay attention to what you say, or whether you simply put random words together. I'm betting on the latter."

"Depends on the situation," the Doctor said, sounding slightly offended, holding out his hand until the Master handed him the device. "C'mon, just pick out the best channel and watch for half an hour. I'm nearly finished fixing the TARDIS…"

"… _You'd_ have more luck trying to fish the manual back out of that black hole."

"It was a supernova," the Doctor said, getting even more annoyed. "But that's beside the point. In your room, watch TV, I'll find you something to read when I am done. If I could trust you not to destroy the library again maybe I could let you in…" That really was fishing, trying to bait the Master to give him _any_ reason for trust.

The Master simply slid the second shot glass even closer to him. The Doctor glared at it, shaking his head quickly. The Master still had that expression on his face which yelled that he was up to something.

"Master, I am trying to help you," the Doctor sighed, suddenly feeling like the Master had aged him again even though he was physically the same age. Martha had left, and he could not collect a new companion while he kept the Master around. He still ended up on different planets seemingly at random, the Master scowling at his lack of navigation, but he had to be far more careful. If he left the TARDIS for a length of time, the Master would find a way to escape, and he did not trust him anywhere near enough to take allow him outside even to accompany him.

"You beat me in a drinking contest, I'll let you," the Master said, sounding almost like a small child, but it was the best that the Doctor had so far got out of him. The Doctor found himself sitting down.

He would watch that the Master was definitely drinking as much as he was, and occasionally swap their glasses to make sure that what he was drinking actually was hypervodka. They weren't on a planet, a million miles from the nearest one in fact, and he had made the controls isomorphic even though the Master could probably override them if given the time.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it Doctor?" the Master said with a smirk.

"If I win, you will allow me to help you," the Doctor said. "We will travel the universe together, not try to take it over or destroy it."

"If I win, I get to choose the next destination," the Master said, although his eyes had flashed coldly at the Doctor's words. "Now drink up. Your TARDIS isn't moving yet still time is _still_ going backwards here." The Doctor still did not raise the glass to his lips, so the Master let out a grunt in annoyance and drunk the entire contents of his shot glass in one go. "Your turn."

The Doctor brought the glass to his lips, hesitating before drinking it far more slowly than his best enemy had done.

"Tell me: how drunk were you when you decided what your sixth incarnation would wear?" the Master asked.

"I wasn't drunk," the Doctor said. "Have you ever gone out and got annoyed that somebody else was wearing the exact same thing as you. With that coat, that never happened."

"There was a reason for that," the Master said, pouring them both another glass. He raised his glass, waiting for the Doctor to do the same, and they both drank at the same time. "I suppose it was an improvement over the vegetable. What sort of a fool wears celery?"

"It encourages people to eat healthily," the Doctor said, and the Master pulled a face.

They took another shot of hypervodka.

And another.

At some point, the Doctor stopped counting. All he knew was that he and the Master had the same amount.

…

"Like you never made your companions kill before," the Master murmured, his head lolling like it had decided that the attached body was boring by staying vaguely upright and wanted to mimic the feeling of being at sea. " _I'm the Doctor. No matter what I do, I am totally the moral centre of this operation. Everybody follow me. Golden age… nah… not if I'm mad at you. Thanks_ for that, by the way. _Really_ appreciate your help." The Master raised his glass while the Doctor scowled at him. Interestingly, the glass was completely empty.

The Master stumbled to the centre of the TARDIS, only to be zapped instantly when he fell against one of the controls.

"Silly. It's… it's isomorphic," the Doctor slurred, having difficulty getting those words out. He was trying to say far more words, so after that his mouth went on strike and a strange sound which did not resemble any sort of language escaped his throat instead.

"Are you doing me now, or… or is it actually," the Master asked, falling backwards with a thud when he did not find any surface that would both hold him and not electrocute him. He tried to rub the back of his head but missed, almost poking himself in the eye instead.

"I'll… I'll…" the Doctor tried.

 _I'll show you,_ he was attempting to say. He steadied himself on the railing heavily, somehow against all physics almost falling over the side. Turning around again, his mouth started working and he spoke incredibly quickly. "Right, where do we want to go? Somewhere good." He paused for a second, even though his mouth continued, somehow settling on the subject of sword fights on Christmas and how they should have had Christmas together if he could trust the Master to leave the TARDIS because he would have enjoyed the Titanic. He interrupted himself when he realized his train of thought again. " _Commotio._ Did you know the trees there are a hundred different colours. They never could figure out which way to bloom, so they look to each other for help. Except they too don't know, so it ends up as a mixture. The inhabitants made millions on artsy…um… artsy-ness."

Fuelled by alcohol, the Doctor got even more excited. The words _guard_ and _Master_ were swimming around in his mind, but any order he placed them in did not make any sense. Yes, he was going to do that. They were going to go to Commotio and… he didn't know. Irrelevant. It was a brilliant idea!

However, when he stumbled forwards and attempted to activate one of the levers, he too got an electric shock. He recoiled, glaring unsteadily at the Master who was roaring with laughter.

"Iso…isomorphic controls?!" the Master giggled. "Did you forget to con… con… config… _set_ them to your DNA too?"

"Nah…" the Doctor said stupidly. His mind reeled, and he grinned brightly when he figured out. "Sexy! You're protecting me. Oh smart, smart, you figure you'll end up stuck in some sort of spaceship if you let me fly now." The TARDIS hummed in agreement.

"Weren't we already…" the Master started, not wanting to miss out another opportunity to point out the Doctor's appalling flying skills. Over the course of the one first journey the Master had unwillingly taken with him, the Doctor had 1) forgotten to put his shields up, meeting his past self and almost ripping a hole the size of Belgium into the universe while the Master grinned smugly and refused to help (though his beard had been cool, thank you very much), then 2) managed to crash into the side of the space Titanic. That was even, allegedly, fulfilling his promise of less running and action and settling down, as it had all happened entirely without the Doctor's planning. "Wait. You call your _TARDIS_ 'Sexy'?"

"No I don't," the Doctor denied pathetically. It was _only_ due to the alcohol that he was blushing, he decided then. Or was he blushing? He didn't know. But whatever reaction the Master constituted as proof appeared to have been given, as he was grinning widely at the thought.

"You just did," the Master. "An _old_ Type 40 TARDIS. 'Sexy', you say?"

" _Old_ ," the Doctor retorted. He'd called the TARDIS 'old' as well, but never so… he needed a response. It only took a certain limit of alcohol before even nine hundred year old time lords simply acted like petty children and that limit had quite possibly been surpassed. "No wonder you don't do well with women."

"Hey, I was _married_!" the Master said.

"Your wife _shot you_!"

"Married!"

"It lasted less than eighteen months," the Doctor said, determined not to lose the argument even though the only thing that told him it mattered at all was the excess of alcohol in his system. "The year that never was doesn't count, because it wasn't _._ "

"M…" the Master stopped himself before he repeated the word 'married' for the third time, as annoyingly the Doctor had a point. "Married!" Whoops. "At least I notice women. I can tell if they are interested in me. Most are. I'm powerful. I _attract_ people."

"I notice women," the Doctor protested. He almost said Rose's name, but stopped himself. Best not to give the Master more ammunition.

"'tha Jones," the Master said, the first half of Martha's first name somehow getting lost. "Doctor, even the Tocfane knew. Toc- _lo-_ fane. They referred to her as the 'woman who loves mister Doctor'. It was _really_ annoying. Their minds are connected. They _all_ did it after a while."

"She did not love me," the Doctor said, and the Master started laughing.

"Do you really not see it?" he asked. "Really? Wow, this is too good! I should'a got her to confess it when I had her on her knees."

The Doctor grinned, pride for Martha swelling inside him like it was burning his insides. Or perhaps that was partially the alcohol, but apart from the fact that he felt like he might just vomit it was irrelevant. "She was too busy… _besting_ you to 'fess anything that might or might not be true."

"Like you've never made your companions kill before," the Master repeated, an edge to his voice.

…

The Doctor and the Master, needless to say, both awoke with hangovers. They were slightly different.

The Master, of course, already had pounding on his head. This led to a bit of a territorial war. The drums said they had already laid their claim, but the alcohol protested with a loud 'nuhuh'. What happened after that was a bit of a spiff which culminated in the alcohol deciding to settle its differences with the drums and they pounded in unison, worse than each of them individually would have been at that particular time.

This caused the Master to curl up in a tighter ball and wake up, while simultaneously trying to claw his temples out. Fortunately for his temples, his entire movement was sluggish and moving his hand caused him to fall to the ground again before he could tear at his own skin.

The Master, in an attempt to take control of the situation, asked himself and whatever forces were currently using his mind as a punching bag, whether the situation could be absolved with more alcohol. To this, the alcohol seemed to nod and the Master crawled over to where a bottle had fallen and miraculously not broken. It seemed to take forever, but eventually he got the bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of it down in one go.

 _Yeah, okay, I'm happy,_ the hangover said. It slowly quieted down, fortunately still seeming to have some sort of truce with the drums going on, and the Master managed to sit up slightly easier. He promptly vomited under the console, wiped his mouth, then realized at that moment that he actually did feel fine. Ish. Fine-ish.

The Doctor, luckily, was still too far into an alcohol-induced unconsciousness to notice his weakness.

From the moment the alcohol had entered the Doctor's bloodstream, it had sped around his body at an increased speed which was a consequence of his binary vascular system. _This is fun,_ the alcohol thought. More accurately, it thought ' _wheeeeeee!'_ From that moment, it decided as it was so brilliantly fun, it was not going to leave the bloodstream without a fight. As the Doctor's system tried to get rid of it, it tightened its hold as much as it could. The brain was decided to be the logical point, so every time that the alcohol passed through his head it clawed and pounded for all it was worth, like it had its claws out and was stabbing him.

The Doctor slowly opened his eyes, his head pounding horribly in time with his heartbeat. His lids were incredibly heavy, but something was going on. Why was everything so loud? The Doctor groaned.

"Hey Doctor!" the Master yelled enthusiastically, and the Doctor buried his head in his hands. _Do you have to shout?_ he attempted to ask, yet all that came out was 'ughh ah ughh'. And it was too bright? Surely it was no lighter than usual. "I made _breakfast!_ " A sickly smell filled his nose, and he felt like he was about to throw up. That did not explain the whole ruckus though. Music was loudly playing in the background. "Okay, I admit, the TARDIS didn't let me get to the stove or anything remotely dangerous, but there was some old…" The Master looked at the mangy meal he had made and tried to identify what it was actually made out of. "… let's call it _food._ There was some old _food_ at the back of one of the cabinets, so I decided to be creative and made you breakfast."

"Ugh… urgh… ah," the Doctor said, still unable to speak. His mouth was horribly dry and his head was pounding fiercely. It kept going, one two three four. The Master appeared almost to read his mind and his grin widened impossibly. He tapped out the four beats onto the ground next to the Doctor's face.

"Tell me Doctor, can you hear them. Can you hear the drums?" the Master asked. All the Doctor could do was groan. "I said… CAN YOU HEAR THE DRUMS?!" The Doctor placed his hands over his ears, but somehow that did not make it better.

"Shut up," he managed to murmur inelegantly. A thought passed through his mind. "Hey! Was this your plan this entire time?" The Master simply tapped the end of his nose twice with a smirk. Or he tried to. One and a half times; the other half time might have hit his cheek instead.

"I win," the Master said with a smirk.

…

…

…

Several days later, they were completely out of hypervodka. The Doctor had not collected any more, as it really did not help the Master if he remained constantly drunk even though that way he was _a lot_ easier to live with.

When his hangover finally caught up with him, the Master curled himself up into a tight ball clutching his head and shaking. The Doctor did not play loud music, or make a horrible 'meal' that could not be called food by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, he covered the Master with a blanket, provided him with water and a bucket to throw up in. He remained close to him, the TARDIS still parked in a remote corner of the universe.

"I will find a way to stop the noise in your head, whatever it is," the Doctor whispered, loud enough that he hoped the Master would hear, but quietly enough that it would not hurt his head too much. The Master looked up at him, blinking slowly. His eyes were deeply rimmed red.

"You're just loving this, aren't you?" the Master rasped. The Doctor shook his head, placing his hand on the Master's and trying to bring his sincerity across. The Master groaned again, and the Doctor gripped his hand tighter and looked into his eyes.

"I'm really not. I promise you, I will find a way to stop it," the Doctor said.

"I don't know what I'll be without that noise," the Master said.

"My friend," the Doctor said without hesitation. The Master coughed up a laugh.

"Only you, Theta. Only you," the Master said dismissively, shaking his head slowly. The Doctor looked away to hide the smile that came to his face. It did not matter that the Master was dismissive, because this again was as close as the Doctor had got. He did not say the words, because he was not the Master and he was not going to rub it in. If the Doctor won, the Master would allow him to help him.

 _I win._


End file.
